esar and Alexander rolled into one, he could not have crossed
the threshold with a more tremendous assumption of dignity. Once
inside, he stood and glared at us, somewhat taken aback, I think, for
the moment by our numbers; but recovering himself almost immediately,
he strutted towards us, and, without uncovering or saluting us, he
asked in a deep voice who was responsible for the man outside.

"I am," the graver mountebank answered, looking at the stranger with a
sober air of surprise. "He is my servant."

"Ah!" the Mayor exclaimed, with a withering glance. "And who, may I
ask, are you?"

"You may ask, certainly," the player answered drily. "But until you
take off your hat I shall not answer."

The Mayor gasped at this rebuff, and turned, if it were possible, a
shade redder; but he uncovered.

"Now I do not mind telling you," Pierre continued, with a mild dignity
admirably assumed, "that I am Simon Grabot, and have the honour to be
Mayor of Bottitort."

"You!"

"Yes, monsieur, I; though perhaps unworthy."

I looked to see an explosion, but the Mayor was too far gone. "Why, you
swindling impostor," he said, with something that was almost admiration
in his tone. "You are the very prince of cheats! The king of
cozeners! But for all that, let me tell you, you have chosen the wrong
ROLE this time. For I--I, sir, am the Mayor of Bottitort, the very man
whose name you have taken!"

Pierre stared at him in composed silence, which his comrade was the
first to break. "Is he mad?" he said in a low voice.

The grave man shook his head.

The Mayor heard and saw; and getting no other answer, began to tremble
between passion and a natural, though ill-defined, misgiving, which the
silent gaze of so large a party--for we all looked at him
compassionately--was well calculated to produce. "Mad?" he cried.
"No, but some one is, Sir," he continued, turning to La Font with a
gesture in which appeal and impatience were curiously blended, "Do you
know this man?"

"M. Grabot? Certainly," he answered, without blushing. "And have
these ten years."

"And you say that he is M. Grabot?" the poor Mayor retorted, his jaw
falling ludicrously.

"Certainly. Who should he be?"

The Mayor looked round him, sudden beads of sweat on his brow. "MON
DIEU!" he cried. "You are all in it. Here, you, do you know this
person?"

La Trape, to whom he addressed himself, shrugged his shoulders. "I
should," he said. "The Mayor